And show the brother and you leaving the house and riding toward the camera; at the gate, you separate.

You're going to town, say.

He rides on toward the hills.

That fixes you both as belonging here at the ranch, identifies you two and the home ranch both in thirty feet or so of the film, with a leader that tells you're brother and sister.
See what I mean ?" He scribbled a couple of lines, crossed out a couple, and went on reading to where he had interrupted Jean in the middle of a sentence.
"I see you're writing in a part for that Lite Avery; how do you know he'd do it?
Or can put it over if he tries?
He don't look to me like an actor." "Lite," declared Jean with a positiveness that would have thrilled Lite, had he heard her, "can put over anything he tries to put over.
And he'll do it, if I tell him he must!" Which showed what were Jean's ideas, at least on the subject of which was the master.
"What you going to call it a The Perils of the Prairie, say ?" Burns abandoned further argument on the subject of Lite's ability.
"Oh, no! That's awfully cheap.

That would stamp it as a melodrama before any of the picture appeared on the screen." Robert Grant Burns had not been serious; he had been testing Jean's originality.